


A Long, Simmering History

by seakaygee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seakaygee/pseuds/seakaygee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had once barged into a meeting of the curriculum committee to prove a point to her about Cromwell. He had forgotten what he was going to say when he had seen her, head thrown back in laughter, her hair slipping from the clip that held it. “Sorry, wrong room,” he had muttered, the tops of his ears burning with embarrassment. He had been ready to leave but she caught his eyes and he had been rooted there on the spot.</p>
<p>Or the hayffie!Welsh teacher AU that no one asked for. (Implied past Haymitch/Johanna.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long, Simmering History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildImaginings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildImaginings/gifts).



The heavy door scrapes against the linoleum floor of the history base room, and Haymitch steps over the threshold hesitantly, blinking twice in an effort to adjust his eyes to the dimly lit room.

Half of the room is still in disarray, with textbooks piled hurriedly on the floor and empty cups and take away containers on shelves. But the other half is immaculately clean and devoid of all mess. Sat right in the middle of the two worlds is Effie Trinket, cataloguing a mountain of textbooks. 

Haymitch’s heart thumps painfully in his chest as he watches her record information about the books and their condition on a sheet that Headmistress Coin gave her. He had offered to help her and she had scoffed at him. She is still angry and hurt; he knows that. But he also knows that she’ll find more solace in his arms than in her work. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches her worry her bottom lip as she frowns at the book in front of her. “Don’t think too hard, sweetheart. You might short circuit something,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Effie sits up a little straighter, but she doesn’t turn to look at him. “You shouldn’t be here, Haymitch,” she replies, rubbing her temples. She sounds so tired, and it takes everything in him not to just take her in his arms and kiss the tension away.

Of course he’s never held her or kissed her, but he has a fairly good idea of how it would go. Of how she would feel. He’s dreamt it often enough. “Neither should you. If you weren’t so bloody minded, we’d be at the local by now,” he snaps. He doesn’t mean to be angry but he is. She won’t yield for sixty fucking seconds and just listen to him.

“No,” she says, softly, “We wouldn’t. Even if this were done, we wouldn’t be at your local. I’m not welcome there. Even if you have cleared things up with Miss Mason.” He makes a noise to protest but she continues, “It’s a small town. People have...notions about me now. I’ll be lucky if this doesn’t get back to the Headmistress and I don’t get sacked!” She tosses her pen down in frustration. The gesture is so uncharacteristic that it startles Haymitch. Usually he’s the one throwing things and shouting and she is the voice of reason.

“You won’t get sacked,” he says, slowly walking towards her. He wants her to have all of the time she needs to tell him to stop, or to get up and move away from him. But she stays put, and he tries not to let his heart hope, but it does in spite of him.

She scoffs. “How could you possibly know that?” she asks, her eyes flicking up towards his face briefly.

“Because if someone needs to be fired, it’s me. I’m the source of this drama. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re blameless,” he says, fighting the desire to reach for her hand.

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps viciously, turning in the plastic chair to face him, “This is your home. You can’t leave. If anyone goes it’s me. And besides, I don’t feel...blameless.” She looks down at the floor, her shoulders sagging.

He reaches out, his hand shaking, and he runs his fingers from her forearm to her shoulder. She sighs but does not object, so he passes his hand over the wide strap of her dress and the cords of her neck to wrap his fingers around the nape of her neck. She hums and every cell in his body vibrates at the same note. “If you’re gone, there’s no reason for me to stay here anymore. This place is already like a graveyard for me. And you are blameless,” he adds. “Even if you don’t feel that way, it was my fault. I should have made things clear to Jo earlier and I never should’ve let you get so close. But I’m selfish, Effie. It feels good to be with you. Feels like being alive again.” He squeezes her nape gently.

She looks up at him and all he can think of is how easy it would be to lower his lips to hers and kiss her. “Someone wrote ‘WHORE’ on my whiteboard in capital letters,” she says, tears filling her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, trying to ignore the anger and pain that are ripping through his chest.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry,” she says, looking at him intently. If she thinks he has any idea what she wants, she’s wrong. Ever since the first time they spoke, she’s thrown him for a loop. Every time he thinks he knows her, she surprises him. She’s outdone him at every turn. And he loves it. 

He slowly lowers his mouth to hers, giving her all the time she needs to turn away or push him away. But she surprises him, because of course she fucking does. She frames his face with her hands and pulls him to her. He’s expecting a soft kiss, something sweet and healing after the week she’s had. But her lips are brutal and demanding. Her teeth scrape against his upper lip and her tongue circles the o of his mouth. 

He sticks his tongue in her mouth and massages his tongue against hers. He’d always imagined that she’d taste sweet, but she must not take sugar with her tea. He’d spent the better part of a week stalking the staffroom in hopes of watching her make her tea. He had no idea how she got it that exact color. He’d gone through a whole pot at home without making anything like hers, and it had driven him absolutely mad. When she’d finally arrived, it had been with Brutus the ursine maths teacher. Maths. He’d been absolutely tamping. She had tried to say something to him about Wolf Hall, had tried to bait him but he’d stormed out, leaving his mug behind. Right before his next class, she’d brought him his mug full of tea, done just right. 

Her moan brings him back to the moment and he wraps his other arm all the way around her waist, pulling her up and setting her on the table. She rakes her fingers through his hair, the scrape causing shivers to run down his spine. They just look at each other for a moment, chests heaving, sharing the same air. He had once barged into a meeting of the curriculum committee to prove a point to her about Cromwell. He had forgotten what he was going to say when he had seen her, head thrown back in laughter, her hair slipping from the clip that held it. “Sorry, wrong room,” he had muttered, the tops of his ears burning with embarrassment. He had been ready to leave but she caught his eyes and he had been rooted there on the spot. Her tongue had darted out to lick her lips and he had had to suppress the groan that was welling up deep inside of him. 

He groans when she tugs softly on his lapels, bringing him down for a peck, then releasing him. Then she pulls him in for another peck and another. Each kiss pumps blood into his cock and away from his brain, which is telling him that this is not the time nor the place for this, whatever this turns out to be. But he is hard and his eyes are hooded with desire. He trails his hand over her shoulder, her sharp collarbone, and over her breast. She gasps harshly at the contact. He touches her breast softly at first then squeezes it until she cries out. Her mouth drops to his neck as he moves to her neglected side. She bites down on his pulse point and he can’t stop himself from thrusting his hips.

She tugs his shirt out from his trousers. “Take this off,” she says, “I want to see you.” He gulps down a breath and tugs the knot out of his tie. As he’s pulling the shirt over his head, he has a blind moment of panic that Effie won’t like what she sees. He knows that she’s just right under her clothes, a daydream in wool and silk. He tosses the shirt on the floor and starts on his belt, swallowing the nerves. “Boxers, too?” he asks, hooking his thumbs under the elastic. She says yes and he slides them off his hips. He toes off his shoes and socks, and steps out of his trousers and boxers.

And naked as the day he was born, he stands in front of Effie Trinket. He brings his eyes up to meet hers, fighting the impulse to make a joke about--Jesus, anything--but her pupils are blown wide and she’s licking her lips. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders and she trails her fingers over his chest, tangling them in his chest hair before dragging them over his nipples, scratching the sensitive skin there. His breathing is rapid and irregular, and he wants so very badly to say something to her, for her to say something to him so that he’ll know everything’s alright. But she keeps licking her pink lips and running her hands over his torso. When her cold fingers touch his scar, the one that still throbs when it rains, she closes her eyes and presses her hand over it as if she’s saying a prayer, as if that could possibly cure it.

She spread her fingers around his hips and gives him a little tug so that he stands between her legs. “My, my, you’re a bit of alright, aren’t you?” she asks, leaning forward that she can reach behind him and grab his ass. He feels a bit dizzy and silly. She likes me, he cringes at the thought. It’s the sort of thing a boy in sixth form thinks, not a man. 

“You’re a bit overdressed, aren’t you?” he replies, trying to mimic her posh little accent. She grins and slides down between the table and him. His cock pushes against her belly, as if to remind him of where he wants to be. He groans and rocks against her. She laughs at him and leans up against him for a quick kiss. When she starts to pull away, he tangles his hand in her hair and deepens the kiss. She runs her hands up and down his arms before squeezing his biceps gently.

He lets her go and takes two steps back so that he can watch. His cock is aching painfully as she unzips her dress. He’d like to just run his fingers over the head and smooth his foreskin back. Maybe just thrust into his fist once, just to relieve some of the heaviness and pressure.  
She wiggles her hips as she pulls her dress up and over her head. He is panting at the thought of those hips wiggling against him, of the friction against his cock. He tries to take a deep breath but it gets caught in his throat when he sees her in nothing but her bra and knickers. 

Haymitch doesn’t know that he’s ever particularly considered women’s underthings. Usually he likes them best when they’re on the floor. But he’s never seen knickers like these before. The bra looks to be made out of dark red ribbons with small lacy flowers sewn together instead of cups. The one of the little flowers barely covers her nipple. It’s obscene, really. She’s been basically naked under that dress all day. The knickers are worse. He’s not actually sure how the little lace flowers stay on--there must be a thin mesh or something. “Turn around,” he hears himself say.

She gives him a pert smile and turns around, sticking her bum out a little. There are two little ribbons running near the cleavage of her ass to meet with the waistband, emphasizing what he considers the perfect size and shape of that feature. His eyes clamp shut and he covers his cock with his hand and he thrusts into it to relieve the pressure.

“Are you starting without me?” she asks, looking over her shoulder, eyes wide. He opens his mouth and closes it again. His tongue feels like it is made out of concrete and his mouth is filled with sand. She turns around and frowns at him. “Look I know I’m not exactly FHM material, but…,” she says, laughing weakly. She bites down on her lip and crosses her arms.

He closes the space between them and frames her face with his shaking hands. “You’re a thousand times better,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He drops to his knees and starts kissing his way up her legs, rubbing his stubble against the soft skin of her inner thighs. He reaches up and pulls her knickers off. She steps out of them gingerly, still worrying her lower lip. He parts her folds and presses a wet kiss to her swollen clit, then kisses her mound and up her belly. She gasps and he can just barely see that she’s squeezing her nipples.

“Tease!” Effie hisses, threading her fingers in his hair and giving a bit of a tug.

“You’re the tease. Wearing next to nothing under that dress. Dripping wet and pretending,” he pauses to nip at the skin around her bellybutton, “Like you’re not bothered in the least.”

She hums with a smug little smile on her face. 

He’s imagined her body a hundred--no, a thousand times. But he never thought it would be this perfect. He tries to catalogue every detail--the slight asymmetry in her labia, the stretch mark over her right hip, the dimples he feels right above her ass-- so that when she’s moved on, he can conjure every part of this memory and wrap himself in it. The smell of flowers and sweat fill his nose and her breath hitches when he swipes his thumb across her hard nipple. These are the memories that he’s going to keep in his heart. 

As he peppers kisses across her collarbone, he slips his hand between her folds again and teases her clit between his thumb and first finger. She wraps her leg around him and grinds against his hand. 

“I wish I could kiss every inch of you,” he moans into her ear.

“Next time,” she pants, grinding harder against him.

Next time. The words ring in his ears. She wants a next time. “Condom,” he replies, trying to focus on what they’re doing. She groans. “I don’t have one.”

“Fuck,” he pulls back, trying to ignore the angry throbbing of his cock, “I think I have one in my wallet.” He rifles through his pockets, finally finding his wallet. Effie makes a noise of approval behind him. “Ah hah!” he cries as his fingers close on the foil packet. He checks the expiration date quickly because he doesn’t even remember having tucked it in his billfold; it’s good for another five months, so he rips the package in half and is about to roll it over himself when a thought occurs to him. “Do you want to have sex? Like my penis in your--you know, sex?” he asks, holding his erect penis in one hand and the condom in the other.

She throws her head back and laughs. He ought to be frustrated with that but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, I know sex,” she replies, plucking the condom from his fingers. “And yes, I want to have it. With you. Right now,” she says with a smile. Then she rolls the condom over him.

He groans harshly and asks, “Right now?” and gives her a quick peck, curling his hand around the nape of her neck.

“Right now,” she says and deepens the kiss.

He walks her backwards until she runs into the solid wooden table. He breaks the kiss and shoves the textbooks onto the adjoining table. “You’re going to mess up my system,” she pants into his ear. He grunts in response and lifts her hips until she’s sitting on the flat surface. They stay like this for a moment, looking into each others’ eyes like two silly cunts on Pobol y Cwm. But he doesn’t feel stupid. When he’s breathing in her hot breath, he feels awake, he feels alive. 

He runs his hands up her thighs and says between heaving breaths, “I’m going to make sure that you’re...ready.” He presses the first two fingers of his right hand against her thigh, hoping that she understands his meaning. She nods vigorously and ducks her head to kiss his neck, sucking and nipping at his pulse point. She hisses as he grazes her clit on his way to her opening. She’s absolutely sopping as he pushes his first finger into her warmth. Her inner muscles pull him in and contact against his finger. He pushes a second finger in and her chin drops to her chest as her inner muscles relax and contract around him. Her wetness is running down his forearm as he pumps into her. He loves the way the muscles of her soft belly contract and the shuddering of the muscles of her ass as he teases her.

She squeezes his shoulders and nods at him. “You ready for me?” he asks, only taunting her a little. Her head bobs yes and he takes himself in hand, licking his lips at the thought of being inside of her after all of these months of waiting.

He dips his tip carefully in her, just fucking cherishing the way she shudders at the contact. He pulls out and presses his cock against the exterior of her opening, letting her coat the condom before he tries any more. The warmth from her cunt is killing him and from the whimper that escapes her, he judges that his heat is doing the same to her. He grips her hip with his free hand and says, “I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.”

“Jesus, finally,” she replies, pulling his face close so that they can kiss as he pushes into her. He goes slowly, savoring every point of contact as she expands and contracts around him until it feels like she was made for him. She wraps her legs around him and rocks against him until he thrusts the last inch of himself roughly into her. She gasps and pulls him tighter as he takes a minute to appreciate how bloody perfect it feels to be balls deep in a woman again. 

He moves slowly, making short thrusts as his tongue massages hers. Then he starts to pick up the pace because he is aching for release. She’s sighing softly with each thrust but he’s not quite sure what to do but push harder. As his thrusts become more vigorous and he feels his orgasm start to build, she groans and lowers herself onto her elbows. Then she moans a little louder on his next thrust, and he tries to say something but it just comes out a strangled grunt. She lays down flat on the table and the next time he thrusts, he must hit the right spot because her hips shake and tense under his hands. She pulls one of his hands free and places it on her breast. He takes the hint and kneads it, working her hard nipples. Her neck arches as she slips her hand between them and starts to rub her clit. Her knuckles hit the sensitive skin above his cock, making him moan her name. 

He leans forward and kisses her throat as he times a deep thrust and a hard squeeze of her nipple. The blood is rushing in his ears and his vision is partially obscured by his heavy eyelids. His balls are painfully tight as he starts to rut against her. He’s not sure how close she is, but he’s so close he can’t stand it. She props herself up on her elbow and says his name, her eyes raking over him as he nears the edge. He tries to tell her he’s close but the only thing he can manage is a strangled cry. She nods at him as if she knows where he is. He releases her breast and cups her chin so that he can see her face as he empties himself into the condom. He is strung tight as a bow then she says his name, just a whisper but it’s enough to push him over the edge. When he comes, he’s slamming into her, head thrown back, moaning like he’s about to die.

Her fingers pick up their pace, moving frantically as he slowly rides out the last of his orgasm. She screams or cries, he’s not sure which, clamping down hard on his softening cock as she comes. He keeps moving in her until her fingers stop and he is finished.

When they’re both done, he crawls up on the table next to her, praying that it will hold their combined weight. He grabs her hand and brings it to his mouth, chiding himself for making such a juvenile display even before he brushes his dry lips against her smooth knuckles. She turns her head slowly to him and smiles as if she’s in a haze. She releases a humming breath and tries to turn towards him but shakes her head when her body barely moves. He nods at her and laces his fingers through hers.

When the edges of his vision become clearer, he pulls her into his arms and kisses the crown of her head. “Glad I’m here now, sweetheart?” he asks, stroking her hip.

She hums with her eyes closed, “Very.”

He scoffs, “I’ve never heard you so quiet.”

“You’ve never made love to me like that either,” she replies, nuzzling his neck.

He tamps down the urge to pull away. “That wasn’t making love,” he says stiffly.

“Well, it wasn’t fucking either,” she snaps.

“Effie Trinket, cursing! I never thought I’d see the day,” he teases. When she remains silent, he says, “One of these days, we’ll make love. I’ll be slow and tender and the fucking birds will sing and the sun will shine all day.”

“All day?” she asks.

“All day,” he confirms, pulling her close to him.


End file.
